


Parallel Lives

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Guildswap AU, Implied Public Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 10:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20329627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: When Arrester Ral Zarek is summoned to make a crime report, the last thing he expected to find was a monument to his own sexual prowess.  Now, surrounded by the corpses of debtors past, he is faced with a choice. Stand by his unruly Rakdos boyfriend or flee for another plane entirely? If only the gorgon would make his choice a little easier.Guildswap AU, inspired by WaterSeraphin's Rakdos!Tomik and Azorius!Ral.  Orzhov!Vraska is a little addition of my own.





	Parallel Lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaterSeraphim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterSeraphim/gifts).

The private offices of this “financial assistance centre” were surprisingly classy. Ral Zarek had been in many an Orzhov establishment over his years as an Arrester. When he’d arrived, he’d been expecting the usual eye-dazzling gaudiness. Yet these premises were different. The clank of his armour was muffled by oak panelled walls as he was led down a spacious corridor that had been utilised as a gallery. Every now and again, he passed a landscape, carefully preserved behind glass and an elegantly carved wooden frame. The passage was not without its gold – that would be going too far. However, the glimmering sconces set into the walls were practical in addition to glamorous. There was the scent of incense in the air, not overpowering and actually quite pleasant. The whole place reminded Ral of the Head’s office back at the training academy. Thankfully he’d only had to go there once before graduation. The place was far too clean, far too austere, and way too opulent for a street cop like him.

He could recognise a good painting when he saw it though. He could see New Prahv on the horizon of many of the pictures they passed, looming up like the edifice of order it was. Ral had never actually been there, but he’d heard it was a sight every arrester should take in when they were feeling less than inspired. Maybe, if he ever got the time, he’d take a trip one day. Like the nuisances in this neighbourhood would ever give him time. For now, however, he was quite enjoying the silence. Their footsteps were lost to the thick weave of the carpet and neither he, nor the man leading him, seemed to want to make too much noise.

That was until the servant suddenly cleared his throat.

“Please enter the waiting room Arrester,” he croaked, “Take a seat. Her Grace will see you shortly.”

He nodded to the old man, who started to shuffle back the way he came. They had arrived at a door, panelled like the walls, but trimmed with an ornate golden border that made it too look like another painting. There was a large plaque at eye height on Ral, proclaiming this to be the “Guest Reception and Lounge” above an engraving of a bird with a jewel for an eye – the crest of the Zotov family. The handle was large enough for an ogre to use. Ral gripped it with both hands and pushed the surprisingly heavy door open.

What greeted him was a scene from a nightmare.

The waiting room was packed with people. This was nothing strange of course, he had to brush elbows every time he took public transport. However, the people on the subway were living, breathing, talking… The people here were as silent as the grave. As silent as the graves they had been denied.

The chamber was full of statues. So many statues that they blotted out the light from the wall-sconces, casting horrific shadows over the wood panelling and the few living faces that waited meekly by the stone. Ral couldn’t help but think of prison bars as he stepped through stripes of light and darkness, between a pair of statues that appeared to be running towards the door. Here and there, flanked by the figures, were cushioned leather seats and a few winged velvet armchairs. There were tables full of newspapers, magazines, and even tea and coffee making facilities. Yet none of these could possibly be deemed welcoming when squeezed in between dozens of monuments to terror. There was no doubt in Ral’s mind that these figures had once been people. There was no way even the most talented sculptor in the best workshop on Ravnica could create such life-like expressions of horror, agony and despair. And why would they? Why produce so many statues of people trying to gouge their own eyes out with their fingernails? Some of these people had clearly tried to run. Many were stuck forever, one foot on the ground, the other suspended mid-step in the air. People of every race, age and gender were frozen here, in suspended animation, for all time. Yet, if that wasn’t disturbing enough, for some reason, they had all been decorated.

As Ral sat on a leather couch between the stone effigies of a weeping woman and a Simic hybrid, he couldn’t help but feel immensely disturbed by the additions to these statues. Many of them had been painted to bear the colour they did in life. Others had gilded parts like eyes, hair, fingernails, as if they had been retrospectively turned into pieces of art. Some of the statues stood in glass display cases, surrounded by velvet ropes as if they were in a museum. It was these that had received the most attention. Like mannequins in shop windows, they stood wearing beautiful clothes, silks, velvets and an abundance of golden jewellery. Directly across from Ral was a young woman, her statue had been donned in a pale blue ballgown and she had a diamond tiara on her head, matching necklace clasped around her throat. One of her arms was missing, but judging by the angle of her shoulder, it would have been spread out, perhaps upwards to cover her face. Whoever had put her here had evidently thought that her arm wouldn’t fit in the case and thus removed it. Beside the glass was a young man, alive, visibly shaking whilst sat on a low bench. Ral tried to give him an encouraging smile. However, he just stared at Ral wide-eyed before shifting down the bench and behind yet another statue out of sight. Ral looked down at his armour and wondered how he could be intimidating next to all of this.

He was twenty minutes early for his appointment – the sort of behaviour that was commendable in his office but seemed no good here. As he watched the young man get escorted away through the room in tears, he went over all the relevant information in his head. He was here to make a report. A crime had happened, on these premises, and he was to be the investigator on this case. This sort of thing was supposed to be Boros work. However, his presence here had been requested personally, by name in fact. His Captain had thought this unusual, and agreed that this was work better suited for a lowly Boros grunt. However, Ral’s name had been explicitly given and she wasn’t about to go upsetting Orzhov aristocracy over semantics.

So here he was, wondering why the hell he specifically was called to this place. He’d never had any dealings with the Orzhov. Well, he might have watered a few aristocrat’s gardens, but he was a different man now. He wasn’t just some naïve rain mage, some fool who loved too freely and worked too hard only to have his heart used and crushed. He had picked himself up by the bootstraps. He had made something of himself. Whilst the nightmares plagued his sleep, during the day he strode with noble purpose. He was an Arrester. He went out onto the streets and helped people who couldn’t help themselves. The sorts of people who were preyed on by tyrants like _Him_. Now Ral would stand between the abusers and the vulnerable. His lightning, infused with the magic of his training, stunned evil-doers so that his fellow arresters may remove all trace of crime from the city streets. Together they protected the innocents of Ravnica. His work came highly recommended, he was set for promotion by the end of the year. Was that why the Zotov family wanted him in particular? Somehow, he didn’t think so.

He’d done a bit of research on the Zotovs at the station. Their criminal record was spotless. They had made several large donations to Azorius schools, orphanages and public works – which probably explained how squeaky-clean their file was. The head of the family, Ministrant Mattis Zotov, was known precinct-wide for three things – his love of collecting art, his tendency to gamble and the fact he had married a Golgari assassin – a gorgon no less. His wife was now part of the Orzhov, however the family had never denied her origins. Lady Yveta Zotov was described as a woman of exceptional and deadly beauty. She had once been the choice of the Orzhov for getting rid of their unwanted nobility. Now however, she had married into it. Whether she was still an assassin, Ral didn’t know. He was quite happy never to find out. It was, however, because of Yveta Zotov that Ral was sure these statues had once been people. If there were gorgons about preying on innocent citizens, he had to stop it. As a defender of the helpless, as well as an officer of the law, it was his duty to do something about it. He had resolved to take this as an opportunity to gather evidence. Whatever the Zotovs wanted him for, they had unwittingly given him free access to their private business. He was sure all these statues couldn’t be legal.

After about ten minutes, the young man reappeared. He had stopped crying, but was still trembling from head to toe. He was led back through the waiting room and to the door Ral had entered in through. The servant bowed him out before turning back to the room at large.

“Guildmage Ala, Her Grace will see you now.”

There was a small squeak from somewhere behind Ral. He turned to see a short figure in long green robes shuffle into the light. They wobbled as they walked towards the servant, entirely obscured by their hooded cloak. Ral merely watched as they teetered their way across the room, the servant two strides ahead at all times. Even with his years of training, Ral could identify nothing about the guildmage. Their cloak was simple and unmarked, its green hue plain with no trim. Their feet weren’t visible, but they walked in such an odd fashion, they were either injured, ill or some sort of hybrid. Yet they were so well covered, it was impossible to tell.

More ominous was the fact that Guildmage Ala did not reappear when the servant did. The same man returned unaccompanied and proclaimed to the room:

“Arrester Zarek, Her Grace will see you know.”

Ral got to his feet. He hoped the others in the room would feel inspired by his lack of fear. He walked, head high, armour faintly clinking in the silence. The servant led him to a pair of double doors and down yet another painting-lined corridor. Ral took the passage with purposeful strides, leaving the servant to jog to keep up with him. He wasn’t here because he owed anyone money. There was no reason to be cautious. He was here to help the Zotov family, no harm should therefore come to him.

He was gestured through another set of double doors, the servant closing them behind him with an ominous thud. The room beyond was huge and even darker than the lounge. Ral reckoned he could fit his whole flat in here at least once, maybe twice, over. Yet it was hard to see into the shadows that loomed up the rows of shelves and bookcases. He’d expected an office, but this place was more like a library. Rows of floor to ceiling bookshelves were packed with tomes, both new and ancient. Glass display cases presented particularly precious volumes, each with small golden plaques proclaiming their titles and what made them especially unique. He passed several first editions and few banned novels as he picked his way down the central aisle. He paused momentarily to stare, horrified, at a shelf full of stone busts set behind yet more glass. Each one wore a set of a particularly unique and valuable jewellery. It wasn't the collection that disgusted him, more the fact that these heads had probably once belonged to living people. Just when he thought the Orzhov couldn’t get any creepier, they threw this at him!

Crossing the room felt like passing through a museum exhibit. The silence swiftly turned from calming to ominous as he reached a wide open space beyond the bookshelves. A spiral staircase with a gilt rail stood cordoned off to his left, and to his right was another figure in a glass case, this one a man in a heavily embroidered tailcoat. He kept on going, his heart leaping at every noise, be it his own breath or the clink of his armour. Finally a desk loomed out of the darkness ahead. Five foot long and accompanied by a pair of velvet armchairs, it stood surprisingly plainly amidst the academic opulence of the place. He saw the eyes of its occupant, before he saw the Pontiff herself. Two pinpricks of fiery gold in the darkness, glowing like distant watch-fires. As he approached, she got to her feet as silent as her quarters. There was a slight buzz of electricity and a singular stained glass lamp illuminated upon the desk. Now he saw her.

A gorgon.

Over six foot tall and as lean as a blade, she stood before him in a long silk gown that belied its expense in its simplicity. A black silk bodice with a low v for a neckline exposed a stretch of mottled grey skin, unmarred by time or injury. The white skirts swirled about her hips as she stepped towards him, belts of linked coinage glimmering about her waist. She had a heavy golden collar, typical of her station, fastened about her neck and shoulders, the wide circular piece creating the Orzhov sunburst about her neck. Her long snake-like tendrils were striped in natural gold, her scales glittering in the minimal light. About her forehead was a circlet, inset with precious jewels, through each seemed plain next to the glow in her eyes.

Ral of course knew who she was. His research had told him Ministrant Mattis Zotov and Lady Yveta Zotov had a daughter. Pontiff Vraska Zotov was somewhat of an enigma. She didn’t have the public face of her father or the infamous reputation of her mother. All Ral had been able to glean was that she ran this particular business by herself. This building was registered in her name.

He bowed and gave her a salute. Best to start this off with all due formalities.

She smiled and gave a little bow of her own.

“Arrester Zarek,” she said, her voice like honeyed poison, “Thank you for attending on such short notice. Your punctuality is highly commendable.”

“You wish to report a crime Pontiff.” he replied, “It is only right that I attend as swiftly as possible so the criminal cannot get away with their act.”

“Indeed,” she stated, “Please, sit. I shall tell you what has occurred.”

He sat in one of the velvet armchairs, sinking a little lower than perhaps was comfortable. She took her place in a high-backed wooden chair, padded in leather and gilded to look like she was framed in gold. Due to their choice of seats, she towered over him despite the fact he had the height advantage when stood up. He could only imagine that this was on purpose. He pretended not to notice as he took out a pad and pencil and rested them on the arm of the chair.

“As you arrived,” Vraska began, “Did you note that the side of these premises are currently covered in a large canvas sheet?”

Ral nodded.

“I did Pontiff. I assumed you were having some decoration done.”

“Well, I will be in due course,” she continued, “My hand has been forced by the actions of a rather crude vandal.”

“Your building has been vandalised?” Ral began to scribble down notes. He’d seen the sheet. It had covered the entire left side of the two storey building. That was a lot of wall to cover, how had that much space been ruined?

“The entire left face of my building has been vandalised,” Vraska elaborated, “The side that faces the public thoroughfare. This vandal made sure his work could be seen by the largest amount of people possible. Would you like to see what he wrote there?”

Ral was about to ask how she could be so sure that the culprit was a ‘he’. However, he was promptly distracted by a piece of parchment being slid across the desk towards him. He picked it up and made to scan its contents. The lower he read; the more colour drained from his face. He went hot then cold then hot again as his body battled between the urges to blush and flee. One of his hands shook a little in a mixture of anger and humiliation, settling closer to the latter as he reached the end of the poem. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind who the culprit must be. It was extremely evident why he in a particular had been called for this case. For the first time since Ral Zarek entered the building, he felt afraid.

“Now,” stated the Pontiff, “Before you try and plea your innocence in this case. I can assure you I have done my research. There are only five men in this district with names resembling ‘Ral’, and you are the only one bearing those three letters as your name in its entirety. You are also the only Ral, who is currently fraternising with a particularly mischievous Rakdos performer who is known to publicly express his sexual needs.” 

Yeah, he could see where this was going.

“Whilst I think it unlikely that you asked this miscreant to write poetry about your genitalia all over my building,” Vraska continued, “You are undoubtedly implicated in this crime. You do agree, Arrester, that defacing private property _is_ a crime?”

He nodded. There was no denying that. It was hard to avoid the sinking feeling that he was going to be facing an enormous bill in the near future.

“I think, therefore, you have a choice Arrester,” Vraska said, leaning back in her chair with a smile.

“You can arrest your dear boyfriend for breaking the law after countless pardons. Or, between you, you can cover the costs of repainting my wall, and I won’t press legal charges.”

If Tomik was arrested, then the courts would undoubtedly make him pay for the costs anyway. Either way, he was going to be deeply in debt to the Orzhov, and that wasn’t a situation anyone deserved to be in. He might as well face it away from a prison cell. He couldn’t believe, no he didn’t _want_ to believe, that he was about to lose another…

No.

“How much is it going to cost?” he asked, with a visible grimace.

Another piece of parchment was slid across the desk. Ral noted that, despite all tales about gorgons having razor-sharp talons, that the Pontiff’s nails were in fact neatly manicured and not sharp at all. He didn’t know why that was significant. Vraska seemed to be cultivating a presence of fear in her office. She wanted to be intimidating. Surely having talons would only improve that?

Perhaps she didn’t need talons to strike fear into the heart of her enemies. Her bill certainly did that well enough. Ral took one look at the total and his mouth fell open, aghast.

“This is a listed building,” Vraska explained, “Which means we need to source very specific materials for the exterior. A simple wash of paint isn’t going to cover all that crimson lettering. We may even have to replaster.”

Ral gawped wordlessly like a fish out of water. He couldn’t pay this! A simple Arrester like him didn’t make this much in a year! And Tomik, there was no way a club performer had this many zinos lying around! They were both screwed! So utterly and completely screwed! By poetry of all things! Why did it have to be poetry?

“Of course, we can always work something out if you lack the money,” said Vraska, her tone definitely smug, “We can come up with monthly instalments. My rate of interest is much more reasonable than my competitors.”

No. No he couldn’t do this! If he ended up in debt to this Orzhov he could kiss his promotion goodbye! Not again, he refused! He wouldn’t be manipulated like this. He’d had enough of being indebted to tyrants! He’d made something of his life, he was going up in the world, and now a thoughtless act of poetry had sent him right back down into the muck. But if he didn’t pay up, he would leave Tomik in danger of being this gorgon’s plaything, getting imprisoned, or both! He felt helpless. As if whatever path he chose, he was damning them both and his principles. Damned by his love for poets who would turn around and stab him in the heart! _Why_. Why did Tomik have to graffiti a gods-damn building? And why this building? He was usually smarter than this!

A small bell chimed somewhere in the darkness. Vraska sat up a little straighter in her chair and sighed.

“Finally,” she stated, with an eye roll, “Your boyfriend has arrived.”

On the verge of a panic attack, Ral turned in his seat, almost knocking his elbow against the wood of the armrest. There was a moment of silence before he heard the definite tinkling of yet more bells, these ones small and tinny. Emerging from the shadows of the bookcases, was a familiar sight. Tomik Vrona was dressed as if he’d come straight from a show. Long legs hugged by a pair of red and black striped thigh highs, he was wearing what Ral could only describe as reinforced lingerie. His red leather thong did absolutely nothing to hide how well endowed he was, and the stretch of bare skin between crotch and stocking was made only more tantalising by black lace garters and suspenders. Whatever he was wearing on his torso could barely be classed as a shirt. (The Azorius did have regulations for such things.) The scrap of red fabric covered his shoulders and a little of his upper arms, but left his pierced nipples on full display. In his hair he wore a pair of black horns, wrapped in barbed wire. The bells were attached to strips of leather about his wrists, meaning he jangled loudly as he hurried up to the office space.

“Nice to you to finally join us,” Vraska commented, “Please take a seat, Mr Vrona.”

Ral realised what was about to happen a second before it did.

Tomik let out an exaggerated sigh as he gave Ral a lapful of scantly clad ass, causing the officer to jump and blush crimson. He leaned against Ral’s breastplate and wrapped an arm around the back of his neck. Pressing his painted lips into Ral’s stubble, he made sure his officer was thoroughly marked, before murmuring:

“Fancy seeing you here Sir.”

Ral was redder than his lover’s thong.

“That’s quite enough,” Vraska snapped, “Mr Vrona, could you please sit in a chair.”

“I am in a chair,” Tomik replied, “There just happens to be a delightful man between it and me.”

Vraska scowled at him. After seeing all the statues outside, Ral didn’t think it was a good idea to piss off a gorgon. He tried to ease Tomik off his lap, but a wiggling of the man’s hips sent all of Ral’s strength rushing south and he was forced to let him be.

“Please take this seriously,” Ral whispered, “We’re in serious trouble because of you.”

“Oh?” Tomik replied, quite audibly, “I don’t think so.”

“I can assure you,” Vraska stated, “You are a lot of trouble. Also, please don’t whisper in a meeting Arrester, it’s most impolite.”

He’d thought that he’d whispered so low only Tomik could hear. However Ral was vividly reminded that their accuser was not human.

“Please,” he begged Tomik, “Just do as she says.”

Tomik let out another overly-dramatic sigh before getting up and moving to the adjacent armchair. There he saw, one leg crossed over the other, quite at ease as if he was used to be called in front of terrifying gorgons demanding a horrific amount of money.

“Mr Vrona,” Vraska said, folding her arms, “Do you deny the fact that last night, between the hours of ten pm and six am, you vandalised the side of my building?”

“I created Art on the side of your building,” Tomik replied, “Quite spectacularly, if I may say so myself.”

“Then you do not deny that you wrote an erotic poem across a public-facing wall for all to see?” demanded Vraska, “Knowing full-well that it was not appropriate for public consumption?”

“Why would I?” Tomik shrugged, “It took me ages to compose those verses. Do you know how hard it is to write a Rixian Huitain?”

Vraska huffed as Ral tried to shrink into the cushions of his seat. Oh gods, Tomik was only make this worse! Why. Why had he ever got himself into a situation like this? Why couldn’t he have sent the the Boros to cover this dirty work instead of him. Was he really going to have to skip plane because of this? But that would involve leaving Tomik to the Zotov’s wrath… There was no good way out of this!

“In fact I do,” Vraska replied. Before she could say anymore, Tomik continued:

“Then you must appreciate the penmanship. Do you know how few rhymes there are for ‘cock’ that would fit the tone and meter? It was a tragedy! I had to focus on ‘ass’ instead, which was worth immortalising but wasn’t what I envisioned at all.”

He winked at Ral, who thought he was going to hyperventilate at any moment.

“I don’t care about your poetry dilemmas,” Vraska snapped, “I care about the eyesore you have left on my property!”

“I thought my calligraphy was quite easy on the eye,” Tomik replied, “Especially the ‘R’ in Ral, that was a letter worth its own-“

She didn’t let him finish.

“I am not here to debate your calligraphic skill!” Vraska exclaimed, “I am here to give you a choice. You will pay for the redecorating of the wall, or you will be locked up in an Azorius detention centre for the rest of your natural existence!

Ral tried to pass Tomik the bill just so he knew what deep shit they were truly in. However Tomik didn’t even bother to glance at it. He merely crossed his arms, bells tinkling, and stared back at the furious gorgon.

“Or, you know, you could just let us walk out of here.”

Vraska’s eyes flashed gold and Ral threw a hand over his eyes and Tomik’s. Tomik craned his head up and licked his fingers, causing Ral to yelp and retract his hand.

“Why would I do that?” Vraska spat.

“I don’t know,” Tomik replied, as casually as if he was discussing the weather, “Why would you Cousin?”

“We are not _cousins_,” Vraska stated, “Neither are we related since you abandoned reason and joined a cult. You have a choice to make Mr Vrona. Will you pay or will your boyfriend here be forced to lock you up?”

Tomik smirked at her ever-mounting rage.

“No, I think I’m going with option three.”

She let out a serpentine hiss that had Ral wondering how far he could run before he got turned to stone.

“You see,” Tomik elaborated, “Ral could arrest me, but I wouldn’t end up in a detention centre. I’d just walk free. So why don’t we skip all that paperwork and I can just walk free now.”

“I don’t think I can protect you from this,” Ral mumbled, “You defaced private property, and confessed to it.”

“Oh, you don’t need to Officer,” Tomik teased, “I’m quite good at taking care of little old me. You see, whilst that wall is indeed part of this property, it has a few vital additions that my cousin here has neglected to mention.”

Vraska said nothing to this.

“Firstly, the wagon stop.” Tomik lowered one finger on his left hand, as if counting down his options

“The sign and timetable are attached to the wall. These belong to the Selesnya, as they are responsible for road management.”

He lowered another finger

“Secondly, the meter box. It measures electrical use for all the surrounding businesses, including the print shop and café down the road. The box itself is owned by the Izzet, as all civil utilities are. Then of course there’s the community notice board, which is owned by the local council,. The drainage is leased out to a Golgari firm and there of course, is charity box, which I believe channels funds into the Dimir.”

The last finger he bent down was of course the middle one. 

“You’ll find that I carefully spread my verse across all these excellent facilities. Facilities whose maintenance falls with the requisite authority. This one wall bears enough additions in fact, that this it isn’t really yours at all. It faces a public thoroughfare, does it not? Therefore, by the Public Usage Act of, oh I forget... 10,025 ZC? Regardless, this act declares that any public facing surface, not contained within a boundary wall, must to be subject to-“

The Pontiff had clearly had enough.

“Regardless of who owns the wall, you still defaced it!” she proclaimed, “And I _will_ report it and you _will_ get arrested unless you pay.”

She had a point, Ral thought. Maybe she didn’t own the wall, but Tomik had very much committed a crime. If anything, he’d made it worse, defacing so many different objects that each authority would need to clear up. He wouldn’t just have the Orzhov mad at him, but the district council, the highway management, the drainage firm, the electrical board… How had this got even worse?!

Tomik however, didn’t seem phased by this at all. Either he was an exceptionally good actor or he had more legal babble up his non-existent sleeves. There was a moment of silence in which Vraska glared and Tomik looked calmly back, arms folded. The office come library was disturbingly quiet. Ral hoped neither could hear how fast his heart was beating in his chest. Tomik drummed his fingers against his thigh, as if waiting for Vraska to break the silence first. The gorgon seemed to accept his challenge as she glared, fiery eyes full of contempt as she dared him to challenge her statement. Either way he looked at it, Ral thought they were doomed. Even if they didn’t need to pay her repair charges, she could blackmail them for the same amount. With his record, Tomik would face a lot of time in a detention centre and even his unexpected legal knowledge couldn’t get him out of that one.

The silence became unbearable. Ral could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and into his tunic. He wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing he could do to make this situation better for them. Tomik was in trouble and he couldn’t just abandon the acrobat to his fate. For better or worse, he loved this nuisance and he didn’t want to see him turned to granite.

“Where’d the flowers come from?”

Ral jumped as Tomik broke the silence, his eyes glittering in the low light.

Vraska’s scowl lightened into a frown of confusion, clearly not expecting the question.

“Why is that any of your business?” she retorted.

Tomik shrugged. Ral sought out said flowers. He had completely glossed over them when he’d arrived. There was nothing strange about someone having a vase of flowers on their desk. He didn’t think they were anything remarkable, especially compared to the woman currently sat behind the desk. However, he now realised that there were indeed flowers present. A bouquet of orange, red and yellow flowers, fiery-coloured blooms presented in a slim black glass vase. About one of the stems was a thick golden ribbon with a large note tag attached, it was too far for Ral to read it in such low light.

“They’re very nice is all,” Tomik commented, “Who gave them to you?”

“A woman can’t buy herself flowers?” Vraska replied, raising one imperious eyebrow.

“When?” Tomik challenged, “You barely leave this place. And when you do, you go straight home.”

“I ordered them,” Vraska stated, “Can’t I treat myself every now and again?”

“With a note to yourself attached?” Ral commented. Vraska suddenly fixed her furious gaze on him and he recoiled.

“What an excellent point,” Tomik cooed, clearly delighted by his observation.

“Are they by any chance a token of gratitude? From one of the many clients you’ve secretly forgiven for their debts?”

What?

Ral stared at the Pontiff whose face was suddenly set with an icy indifference, quite different to her priors rage. When previously she had been so expressive, her features had now frozen in place, as if she was loathe to let them know what she truly thought. There was one thing Ral could be sure of though. Tomik had struck a nerve and was ready to press his advantage.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Vraska stated, her tone perfectly level and calm. It was such an obvious façade that Tomik laughed.

“Or a present from a lover?” he continued, “Ooh I love a forbidden romance! Is it someone that mummy and daddy dearest wouldn’t approve of? I _have_ to know!”

He got to his feet.

“What are we theorising for? I’ll just check the note!”

He leant forwards to reach for the bouquet.

“_Stop!”_

Tomik choked as he was suddenly beset by twisting shadows. The darkness about his feet had leapt up to surround his ankles, like many branching tendrils, rooting his feet to the floor. His hands were wrenched away from the desk by vines of pure blackness, wrenching them above his head as yet more shadows grasped him about the throat. He spluttered and writhed as Vraska got to her feet, one hand extended towards him as the bonds began to constrict around his neck, forcing the air out of his heaving lungs. Ral also jumped to his feet, drawing his sword, but he knew steel was useless against such magic. He’d seen arcane constraints more times than he could count. It was an Azorius staple, Orzhov too, but this was nothing like the gleaming gold spells that brought captives to their needs. This was something dark, twisted, tainted by Golgari shadow magic. This was gorgon wickedness at work, woven into Orzhov bonds.

Vraska was breathing heavily, rage barely contained behind her impassive mask. Tomik tried to claw at the shadows about his neck but his hands slipped through the darkness given form.

“You two,” Vraska hissed, “Will get out of my office. You will travel far far away and you will never mention this meeting to anyone. If I find that you have betrayed my good will, I hunt you down and display your corpses in the market square.”

She clenched her hand into a fist. Tomik gave one last rasping cry before crumpling to the floor. Immediately, Ral was at his side. He lay on the carpet, gasping for breath but very much alive.

“Were you listening?” Vraska demanded, “Get out!”

Ral didn’t need to be told thrice. He bent low to scoop the shuddering Tomik into his arms. As he stood up straight, he couldn’t help but get a closer glance at the label fastened about that surprisingly controversial bouquet.

**Saw these and thought of your eyes, bright in the darkness above me. Never has anyone stole my heart so thoroughly and left me wanting more. Hurry home, my Queen. I’ll be waiting. J.**

There was no time to unpack that right now. He lifted Tomik and hastened back the way he came. Out through the office and down the corridor, he broke into a sprint as he entered the waiting room and made a beeline for the next set of doors. Down two flights of stairs and through reception, he didn’t stop running until he was halfway down the street and into the large public park that separated the shopping district from his arresters station. Even there he looked about for signs of being watched, taking Tomik to his favourite spot, between a cluster of fir trees where he often sat and ate lunch. He lay the now-complaining acrobat down upon the bench before taking a seat ohimself, finally letting himself gasp for air. When he’d got his breathing under control, he turned to the man still lying on the bench.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Tomik massaged his neck as he sat up, letting out a low groan. He took a moment to take in their surroundings before leaning his head against Ral’s pauldron, his horns grazing Ral’s cloak.

“I saved us,” he gasped, still sounding breathless, “I got us out of there.”

Ral looked at him incredulously.

“_I_ got us out of there,” he repeated, “I didn’t see you running.”

Tomik shook his head.

“I got us out of paying,” he managed, “I pissed her off so much she didn’t want to deal with us anymore.”

That was true and he’d almost suffocated because of it.

“Why?” Ral couldn’t help but ask, “Why did you have to do it in the first place? Why did you have to graffiti that building at all?”

Tomik smiled and leaned up to give him a surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Because my incredible boyfriend deserved to be immortalised in poetry,” he said, “What greater form of self-expression is there than displaying your love for all to see?”

“It was _obscene_,” Ral commented.

“It was art,” Tomik replied.

“Terribly graphic and inappropriate art.”

Tomik laughed and kissed him again.

“I prefer ‘descriptive’.”

Ral took his hand just to make sure he was still there and breathing. For a moment he’d been so limp in Ral’s arms, he’d been scared that he’d lost Tomik for good.

“Also grossly inaccurate,” he added.

“Artistic license,” Tomik chuckled, “I needed to add emphasis to let the world know that not all arresters are complete bores in bed.”

“I can’t believe you.” Ral shook his head but smiled as Tomik gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

“I love you too.”

They sat for a moment, enjoying the sounds of laughter and chatter coming from the park around them. Tomik toyed with the buckles on Ral’s breastplate as he asked:

“Do you really think I would cause any trouble without covering my ass?”

Ral couldn’t help but glance at his ass, which was thoroughly not covered.

“My metaphorical ass,” Tomik chuckled, giving a little wiggle of his hips, “Give me some credit Officer, would I ever put _this_ in danger if I didn’t have a way to squeeze my way out?”

“You could have told me before we had to face the gorgon,” Ral informed him. Tomik patted his arm as if he was being a worrywart.

“Oh please, as soon as you make it rain, there won’t be any graffiti left on that wall. It’ll be down the drain in no time.”

So that was his master plan?

“Who said I was ever going to make it rain?” Ral replied, “If I hadn’t been called to the centre, I’d ever have even known-“

He was promptly shut up by the knowing smirk Tomik was giving him.

“I’d have found a way,” Tomik promised slyly, he shifted off his seat with a practiced grace, straight into Ral’s armoured lap. It really couldn’t be comfortable, but he’d never truly complained. He certainly didn’t seem want to now as he took Ral’s face in both hands and whispered.

“_I happen to know someone who loses control of his magic when fucked out of his mind_.”

Part of Ral was screaming that they were in a very public place where anyone could walk in on them. Another took the warmth in his lap as a comforting sign that Tomik was both alive and back to his usual horny self. Yet another part of him wondered if Tomik would even see a sudden role reversal as punishment. What if he fucked Tomik until he lost his mind to pleasure? How would he feel then?

He was roused from his thoughts by the rhythmic snap, click and tug of Tomik undoing his breastplate.

“Stop,” he said, taking those hands off him for just a moment, “We’re not done talking about this yet.”

Tomik pouted but, for once, did as he was told.

“Is she going to come after us?” Ral asked him, “And what was all that nonsense about the flowers?”

“I told you, I was trying to piss her off,” Tomik replied, his hands returning to Ral’s face and then his hair, “She’s harmless. Far from big mean monster she want people to think she is. Miss Zotov has forgiven so many debts but she doesn’t think anyone has noticed. She must understand now that she can’t do anything to me, or you, without that particular secret getting back to her family."

“And are you her family?” Ral inquired. Tomik shrugged.

“Not really, but all Orzhov aristocracy is related in some form or another. They don’t stray far out of their circle. It was quite the upset when I did.”

“_You’re_ Orzhov aristocracy?” Ral wondered when the hell he was supposed to have learnt that.

“Once upon a time,” Tomik confirmed, tracing through the grey streaks in his hair, “But now I’m just a gorgeous scoundrel, free of those awful rules and ceremonies. There’s no individuality in religion, corrupt or otherwise. All I want to do is express myself, well, that and make beautiful men swoon.”

Ral had the distinct impression he was going to do just that if Tomik stayed as close as he did.

“I read the note,” he mentioned, trying to keep their conversation suitable for public viewing. Tomik sat up a little straighter in his lap but didn’t seem remotely dissuaded.

“Really, what did it say?”

Ral recounted the contents of the note to him. Tomik’s eyes widened and he grinned as Ral finished his recital.

“Holy shit, she does have a secret lover!”

“I thought you knew?” Ral asked him.

“I knew that she forgave debts,” Tomik replied eagerly, “But not about this! _Damn_, I have to find out who! Imagine if it was someone we knew.”

“Just be careful. I don’t want to lose you because your old guild holds grudges.” Ral kissed him on the nose, willing him to believe in his sincerity. They’d been in enough trouble for one day. If Tomik started poking his head into the secret affairs of gorgons, there was little he could do to save him.

For all his flirty tendencies, Tomik was surprisingly easy to silence with genuine affection. Gently sweeping his hair back between his horns, Ral placed his next kiss upon Tomik’s lips, adding more pressure, willing him to listen, if not to his words, then to this. Tomik's eyes fluttered shut as Ral deepened the kiss, tasting smoke and cherry lipgloss as he traced the line of Tomik’s lips with his tongue. Tomik drew closer, his bare chest pressed against the cold metal plate of Ral’s armour, a little shiver running down his spine as Ral wrapped an arm around his waist. Tomik let out a small moan as one hand wandered to the waistband of his thong, the other resting in the small of his back.

“Ral,” he gasped as the arrester began to trail kisses down his throat, sucking the occasional hickey into the soft skin there.

“Hm?”

“Y-Your chestplate. It needs to go.”

Ral ignored him in favour of more kisses.

“Raaal,” Tomik whined, “My nipples are cold.”

Ral couldn’t stop himself from snorting against Tomik’s collar.

“Whose fault is that then?” he retorted in fake annoyance.

“All yours and your terrible armour,” Tomik pouted, “You should take responsibility and warm them up.”

That was one responsibility Ral was happy to take.

The punishment for public indecency was one month in a detention centre followed by a year of community service. Thankfully, Ral was accustomed to being ambushed by indecent acrobats whilst on his lunch break, and had therefore planned accordingly. As long as they were quiet, no one would think to look between the fir trees, and Ral had plenty of experience in keeping Tomik speechless, if not quiet. Tomik’s nipples were indeed quite warm by the time he lay, spent and sated against the bright blue of Ral’s tunic. Ral cleaned them both up with the packet of pocket tissues he kept on his person for eventualities such as these, chuckling indulgently as his lover grumbled at his attempts of cleanliness. It was always an act. Whatever his state, Tomik would wear his hickeys like a badge of honour, parading them round for his troop to see. Ral meanwhile would prod at his secretly in the bathroom mirror. He got enough mockery from his colleagues as it was, he would rather keep such intimate reminder just that – intimate.

“I’ve got to go back to work,” he told the sleepy puddle that was his boyfriend. Tomik let out a groan like he’d been roused after a long night-shift, and merely lay completely limp in Ral’s arms.

“I mean it,” Ral insisted, “So, I imagine, do you.”

Tomik groaned again.

“It’s not even raining,” he grumbled. Ral tried to gently lift him out of his lap onto his feet, but it like trying to move a cat off a seat. He just wouldn’t budge.

“Well,” Ral tried, “Maybe you can help me make it rain later. After work. I-I’ll meet you at your club.”

Tomik sat bolt upright like all the life had suddenly returned to his limbs.

“You’ll come to the club?” he exclaimed, eyes shining bright with new energy. Ral nodded, knowing exactly what he was letting himself in for.

Tomik leapt up, landed on one foot, spun gracefully, before pulling up a stocking that had slid dangerously low about his ankle.

“You’re coming now! You said you would!” he cried, “There’s no backing out now!”

“I don’t intend to,” Ral promised him, “Just, I’ll see you later, ok?” He got up, checking his clothing for suspicious stains as he buckled his armour back on.

“You better!” Tomik reached up onto his tiptoes to give him one final kiss.

“See you later!” he sung. Ral watched him go, half-skipping, half-limping, and all gorgeous.

He sighed. What a way to start the day. He couldn’t believe it wasn’t even noon yet. How was he going to concentrate on his paperwork knowing what lay in store for him later? He sighed again as he checked himself over once more. Time to spin a story that didn’t involve indecent poetry and banging in the park. His Captain was going to want a full report on this and she had eyes like a messenger hawk on garbage day. Satisfied with his own decency, Ral started the short journey back towards the office. All things considered, this could have gone a lot worse. He wasn’t a statue for one. Neither was he deeply in debt to a powerful family of Orzhov aristocrats. His chances at promotion had remained intact, so had his relationship. Yes, all in all, today had gone extraordinarily well compared to where it started. And though the thought filled him with a little dread, he knew it would end quite well too, quite pleasurably in fact. Maybe with a chance of rain.

He laughed at his own foolishness as he returned back to the arresters’ office. No one paid him any mind as he went upstairs to find the necessary forms to report his findings. As he detailed out the contents of the waiting room, the Pontiff’s office, and all the ghastly statues he’d found there, he was sure his escape had been nothing short of a miracle. How many innocent lives had been lost in those offices? Yet here he was, unscathed, without any consequences to put a dark cloud upon the horizon.

* * *

The following morning, Ral was greeted by the hubhub of distant traffic, the sound of birds singing and the gentle dripping of his coffee pot. He stood, gingerly, dressed in a pair of old cotton pyjama trousers, admiring the rain drops still glistening on the spider web criss-crossing his window frame. A little unsteady on his feet, he yawned and trudged towards the front door. His morning routine always led him to his mail box, even if he rarely received any post. Expecting his usual serving of takeout leaflets and trashy ads, he flicked aside the lock and opened the box wide on its creaking hinges. He spared the insides a fleeting glance, before moving to slam it shut. Just as he made to lock it again, his weary brain caught up with what he’d just seen. There had been something in there, just not at all what he’d expected.

Realising his error, he retrieved the small cream-coloured envelope from inside the box. It was made of a thick parchment with a gilt trim around the edges. Surprisingly heavy for its size, it was addressed to “Arrester Zarek”, followed by his address, all written in a scrawling cursive. Frowning at it, Ral locked up his mail box before heading back inside. All he could say for sure is that this wasn’t from work. This looked nothing like the regulation letter paper they had at the Arresters Office, and all guild communications were required to contain the Azorius seal to show it had been authorised. So what the hell was this then?

Returning his bedroom, he sat back upon his bed, appreciating its softness against his much-abused behind. Slicing open the top of the envelope, with his not-strictly-regulation pen knife, he discovered that inside was yet more cream coloured parchment, He took it out, unfolded it, and almost had a heart attack at the seal on the top of the letter paper.

It was the Orzhov sun, embossed in gleaming gold. Beneath it, in the same fanciful cursive, read:

**Dear Arrester Zarek,**

**Though we have never spoken, please allow me to extended my sincerest gratitude for taking into your care my darling son. His father and I have been worried sick about his new lifestyle, ever since he ran away to join those fiendish miscreants in the Cult of Rakdos. I was so certain those devils and deplorable sorts would tear my sweet little boy apart – he has always been such a shy and sensitive soul. **

**It therefore came as such a relief when I heard about your relations from my dear cousin and his daughter. It is such a blessing to know that my poor sweet Tomik has come into the affections of an officer of the law. I was so worried that he would stray down a path where none could follow. However, the Zotovs were quick to assure me that you are an arrester of outstanding quality. Now I am certain that with an officer such as yourself looking out for him, he will be back on the right path in no time.**

**It is not often that we open our halls to members of other guilds. Yet we would be delighted if you and Tomik attended a dinner in honour of your new found courtship. We will send a carriage to your place of residence at seven o clock on the eighteenth of Cizarm. I sincerely hope that you can attend. After squaring your debt with the Zotovs, we would be most disappointed not to meet our Tomik’s new lover. The Zotovs have assured me that they are also looking forward to meeting you both in a much more amiable light.**

**For now, I hope the day finds you well and look forward to our meeting.**

**Yours sincerely,**

**Lady K. Vrona**

It took a few read-throughs for it all to sink in. Slumped against the pillows, one hand crackled in his air, the other gripping the parchment with ever more frequent tremors.

_Harmless,_ Tomik had said.

_Not going to cause them any trouble,_ Tomik had said.

_Not actually related_, Tomik had said.

The letter shook so hard he could no longer read the absurdly curly handwriting. It drifted to the floor like a leaf on the wind as Ral rested his forehead against the headboard with a painful thunk. What the hell was he supposed to do about this? How long did he have? How long did he get to find Tomik and make him go talk to his gods-forsaken parents to call this off? He flipped over, scrabbling for his calendar under the pile of laundry that had amassed atop of his bedside table. The eighteenth of Cizarm… The eighteenth of Cizarm…

That was today.

Well.

_“Fuck.”_


End file.
